CHAPTER XL. In which Harry pays off an Old Debt, and incurs some NewOnes
Our Tunbridge friends were now weary of the Wells, and eager to taketheir departure. When the autumn should arrive, Bath was Madame deBernstein's mark. There were more cards, company, life, there. Shewould reach it after paying a few visits to her country friends. Harrypromised, with rather a bad grace, to ride with Lady Maria and thechaplain to Castlewood. Again they passed by Oakhurst village, and thehospitable house where Harry had been so kindly entertained. Mariamade so many keen remarks about the young ladies of Oakhurst, and theirsetting their caps at Harry, and the mother's evident desire to catchhim for one of them, that, somewhat in a pet, Mr. Warrington said hewould pass his friends' door, as her ladyship disliked and abusedthem; and was very haughty and sulky that evening at the inn where theystopped, some few miles farther on the road. At supper, my Lady Maria'ssmiles brought no corresponding good-humour to Harry's face; her tears(which her ladyship had at command) did not seem to create the leastsympathy from Mr. Warrington; to her querulous remarks he growled asurly reply; and my lady was obliged to go to bed at length withoutgetting a single tete-a-tete with her cousin,--that obstinate chaplain,as if by order, persisting in staying in the room. Had Harry givenSampson orders to remain? She departed with a sigh. He bowed her to thedoor with an obstinate politeness, and consigned her to the care of thelandlady and her maid.
What horse was that which galloped out of the inn-yard ten minutes afterLady Maria had gone to her chamber? An hour after her departurefrom their supper-room, Mrs. Betty came in for her lady's bottle ofsmelling-salts, and found Parson Sampson smoking a pipe alone.Mr. Warrington was gone to bed--was gone to fetch a walk in themoonlight--how should he know where Mr. Harry was? Sampson answered,in reply to the maid's interrogatories. Mr. Warrington was ready to setforward the next morning, and took his place by the side of Lady Maria'scarriage. But his brow was black--the dark spirit was still on him. Hehardly spoke to her during the journey. "Great heavens! she must havetold him that she stole it!" thought Lady Maria within her own mind.
The fact is, that, as they were walking up that steep hill which liesabout three miles from Oakhurst, on the Westerham road, Lady MariaEsmond, leaning on her fond youth's arm, and indeed very much in lovewith him, had warbled into his ear the most sentimental vows, protests,and expressions of affection. As she grew fonder, he grew colder. As shelooked up in his face, the sun shone down upon hers, which, fresh andwell-preserved as it was, yet showed some of the lines and wrinkles oftwoscore years; and poor Harry, with that arm leaning on his, felt itintolerably weighty, and by no means relished his walk up the hill. Tothink that all his life, that drag was to be upon him! It was a drearylook forward and he cursed the moonlight walk, and the hot evening, andthe hot wine which had made him give that silly pledge by which he wasfatally bound.
Maria's praises and raptures annoyed Harry beyond measure. The poorthing poured out scraps of the few plays which she knew that hadreference to her case, and strove with her utmost power to charm heryoung companion. She called him, over and over again, her champion, herHenrico, her preserver, and vowed that his Molinda would be ever, everfaithful to him. She clung to him. "Ah, child! have I not thy preciousimage, thy precious hair, thy precious writing here?" she said, lookingin his face. "Shall it not go with me to the grave? It would, sir, wereI to meet with unkindness from my Henrico!" she sighed out.
Here was a strange story! Madame Bernstein had given him the littlesilken case--she had burned the hair and the note which the casecontained, and Maria had it still on her heart! It was then, at thestart which Harry gave, as she was leaning on his arm--at the suddenmovement as if he would drop hers--that Lady Maria felt her first pangof remorse that she had told a fib, or rather, that she was found out intelling a fib, which is a far more cogent reason for repentance. Heavenhelp us! if some people were to do penance for telling lies, would theyever be out of sackcloth and ashes?
Arrived at Castlewood, Mr. Harry's good-humour was not increased. Mylord was from home; the ladies also were away; the only member ofthe family whom Harry found, was Mr. Will, who returned frompartridge-shooting just as the chaise and cavalcade reached the gate,and who turned very pale when he saw his cousin, and received a sulkyscowl of recognition from the young Virginian.
Nevertheless, he thought to put a good face on the matter, and they metat supper, where, before my Lady Maria, their conversation was at firstcivil, but not lively. Mr. Will had been to some races? To several. Hehad been pretty successful in his bets? Mr. Warrington hopes. Prettywell. "And you have brought back my horse sound?" asked Mr. Warrington.
"Your horse! what horse?" asked Mr. Will.
"What horse? my horse!" says Mr. Harry, curtly.
"Protest I don't understand you," says Will.
"The brown horse for which I played you, and which I won of you thenight before you rode away upon it," says Mr. Warrington, sternly. "Youremember the horse, Mr. Esmond."
"Mr. Warrington, I perfectly well remember playing you for a horse,which my servant handed over to you on the day of your departure."
"The chaplain was present at our play. Mr. Sampson, will you be umpirebetween us?" Mr. Warrington said, with much gentleness.
"I am bound to decide that Mr. Warrington played for the brown horse,"says Mr. Sampson.
"Well, he got the other one," said sulky Mr. Will, with a grin.
"And sold it for thirty shillings!" said Mr. Warrington, alwayspreserving his calm tone.
Will was waggish. "Thirty shillings? and a devilish good price, too, forthe broken-kneed old rip. Ha, ha!"
"Not a word more. 'Tis only a question about a bet, my dear Lady Maria.Shall I serve you some more chicken?" Nothing could be more studiouslycourteous and gay than Mr. Warrington was, so long as the lady remainedin the room. When she rose to go, Harry followed her to the door, andclosed it upon her with the most courtly bow of farewell. He stood atthe closed door for a moment, and then he bade the servants retire. Whenthose menials were gone, Mr. Warrington locked the heavy door beforethem, and pocketed the key.
As it clicked in the lock, Mr. Will, who had been sitting over hispunch, looking now and then askance at his cousin, asked, with oneof the oaths which commonly garnished his conversation, what the--Mr.Warrington meant by that?
"I guess there's going to be a quarrel," said Mr. Warrington, blandly,"and there is no use in having these fellows look on at rows betweentheir betters."
"Who is going to quarrel here, I should like to know?" asked Will,looking very pale, and grasping a knife.
"Mr. Sampson, you were present when I played Mr. Will fifty guineasagainst his brown horse?"
"Against his horse!" bawls out Mr. Will.
"I am not such a something fool as you take me for," says Mr.Warrington, "although I do come from Virginia!" And he repeated hisquestion: "Mr. Sampson, you were here when I played the HonourableWilliam Esmond, Esquire, fifty guineas against his brown horse?"
"I must own it, sir," says the chaplain, with a deprecatory look towardshis lord's brother.
"I don't own no such a thing," says Mr. Will, with rather a forcedlaugh.
"No, sir: because it costs you no more pains to lie than to cheat," saidMr. Warrington, walking up to his cousin. "Hands off, Mr. Chaplain, andsee fair play! Because you are no better than a--ha!----"
No better than a what we can't say, and shall never know, for as Harryuttered the exclamation, his dear cousin flung a wine bottle at Mr.Warrington's head, who bobbed just in time, so that the missile flewacross the room, and broke against the wainscot opposite, breakingthe face of a pictured ancestor of the Esmond family, and then itselfagainst the wall, whence it spirted a pint of good port wine over thechaplain's face and flowered wig. "Great heavens, gentlemen, I pray youto be quiet!" cried the parson, dripping with gore.
But gentlemen are not inclined at some moments to remember the commandsof the Church. The bottle having failed, Mr. Esmond seized the largesilver-handled knife
and drove at his cousin. But Harry caught upthe other's right hand with his left, as he had seen the boxers do atMarybone; and delivered a rapid blow upon Mr. Esmond's nose, which senthim reeling up against the oak panels, and I dare say caused him to seeten thousand illuminations. He dropped his knife in his retreat againstthe wall, which his rapid antagonist kicked under the table.
Now Will, too, had been at Marybone and Hockley-in-the-Hole, and aftera gasp for breath and a glare over his bleeding nose at his enemy, hedashed forward his head as though it had been a battering-ram, intendingto project it into Mr. Henry Warrington's stomach.
This manoeuvre Harry had seen, too, on his visit to Marybone, andamongst the negroes upon the maternal estate, who would meet in combatlike two concutient cannon-balls, each harder than the other. But Harryhad seen and marked the civilised practice of the white man. He skippedaside, and, saluting his advancing enemy with a tremendous blow on theright ear, felled him, so that he struck his head against the heavy oaktable and sank lifeless to the ground.
"Chaplain, you will bear witness that it has been a fair fight!" saidMr. Warrington, still quivering with the excitement of the combat, butstriving with all his might to restrain himself and look cool. And hedrew the key from his pocket and opened the door in the lobby, behindwhich three or four servants were gathered. A crash of broken glass, acry, a shout, an oath or two, had told them that some violent scene wasoccurring within, and they entered, and behold two victims bedabbledwith red--the chaplain bleeding port wine, and the Honourable WilliamEsmond, Esquire, stretched in his own gore.
"Mr. Sampson will bear witness that I struck fair, and that Mr.Esmond hit the first blow," said Mr. Warrington. "Undo his neckcloth,somebody--he may be dead; and get a fleam, Gumbo, and bleed him. Stop!He is coming to himself! Lift him up, you, and tell a maid to wash thefloor."
Indeed, in a minute, Mr. Will did come to himself. First his eyes rolledabout, or rather, I am ashamed to say, his eye, one having been closedby Mr. Warrington's first blow. First, then, his eye rolled about; thenhe gasped and uttered an inarticulate moan or two, then he began toswear and curse very freely and articulately.
"He is getting well," said Mr. Warrington.
"Oh, praise be Mussy!" sighs the sentimental Betty.
"Ask him, Gumbo, whether he would like any more?" said Mr. Warrington,with a stern humour.
"Massa Harry say, wool you like any maw?" asked obedient Gumbo, bowingover the prostrate gentleman.
"No, curse you, you black devil!" says Mr. Will, hitting up at the blackobject before him. ("So he nearly cut my tongue in to in my mouf!" Gumboexplained to the pitying Betty.) "No, that is, yes! You infernal Mohock!Why does not somebody kick him out of the place?"
"Because nobody dares, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, with greatstate, arranging his ruffles--his ruffled ruffles.
"And nobody won't neither," growled the men. They had all grown to loveHarry, whereas Mr. Will had nobody's good word.
"We know all's fair, sir. It ain't the first time Master William havebeen served so."
"And I hope it won't be the last," cries shrill Betty. "To go for tostrike a poor black gentleman so!"
Mr. Will had gathered himself up by this time, had wiped his bleedingface with a napkin, and was skulking off to bed.
"Surely it's manners to say good night to the company. Good night, Mr.Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, whose jokes, though few, were not verybrilliant; but the honest lad relished the brilliant sally and laughedat it inwardly.
"He's ad his zopper, and he goes to baid!" says Betty, in her nativedialect, at which everybody laughed outright, except Mr. William, whowent away leaving a black fume of curses, as it were, rolling out ofthat funnel, his mouth.
It must be owned that Mr. Warrington continued to be witty the nextmorning. He sent a note to Mr. Will begging to know whether he was fora ride to town or anywheres else. If he was for London, that he wouldfriten the highwaymen on Hounslow Heath, and look a very genteel figarat the Chocolate House. Which letter, I fear, Mr. Will received with hisusual violence, requesting the writer to go to some place--not Hounslow.
And, besides the parley between Will and Harry, there comes a maidensimpering to Mr. Warrington's door, and Gumbo advances, holdingsomething white and triangular in his ebon fingers.
Harry knew what it was well enough. "Of course it's a letter," groanshe. Molinda greets her Enrico, etc. etc. etc. No sleep has she knownthat night, and so forth, and so forth, and so forth. Has Enrico sleptwell in the halls of his fathers? und so weiter, und so weiter. He mustnever never quaril and be so cruel again. Kai ta loipa. And I protest Ishan't quote any more of this letter. Ah, tablets, golden once,--are yenow faded leaves? Where is the juggler who transmuted you, and why isthe glamour over?
After the little scandal with cousin Will, Harry's dignity would notallow him to stay longer at Castlewood: he wrote a majestic letterto the lord of the mansion, explaining the circumstances which hadoccurred, and, as he called in Parson Sampson to supervise the document,no doubt it contained none of those eccentricities in spelling whichfigured in his ordinary correspondence at this period. He represented topoor Maria, that after blackening the eye and damaging the nose of a sonof the house, he should remain in it with a very bad grace; and she wasforced to acquiesce in the opinion that, for the present, his absencewould best become him. Of course, she wept plentiful tears at partingwith him. He would go to London, and see younger beauties: he would findnone, none who would love him like his fond Maria. I fear Mr. Warringtondid not exhibit any profound emotion on leaving her: nay, he cheeredup immediately after he crossed Castlewood Bridge, and made his horseswhisk over the road at ten miles an hour: he sang to them to go along:he nodded to the pretty girls by the roadside: he chucked my landladyunder the chin: he certainly was not inconsolable. Truth is, helonged to be back in London again, to make a figure at St. James's,at Newmarket, wherever the men of fashion congregated. All that pettyTunbridge society of women and card-playing seemed child's-play to himnow he had tasted the delight of London life.
By the time he reached London again, almost all the four-and-fortypounds which we have seen that he possessed at Tunbridge had slipped outof his pocket, and further supplies were necessary. Regarding these hemade himself presently easy. There were the two sums of 5000 pounds inhis own and his brother's name, of which he was the master. He wouldtake up a little money, and with a run or two of good luck at play hecould easily replace it. Meantime he must live in a manner becoming hisstation, and it must be explained to Madam Esmond that a gentlemanof his rank cannot keep fitting company, and appear as becomes him insociety, upon a miserable pittance of two hundred a year.
Mr. Warrington sojourned at the Bedford Coffee-House as before, but onlyfor a short while. He sought out proper lodgings at the Court end of thetown, and fixed on some apartments in Bond Street, where he andGumbo installed themselves, his horses standing at a neighbouringlivery-stable. And now tailors, mercers, and shoemakers were put inrequisition. Not without a pang of remorse, he laid aside his mourningand figured in a laced hat and waistcoat. Gumbo was always dexterous inthe art of dressing hair, and with a little powder flung into his fairlocks Mr. Warrington's head was as modish as that of any gentleman inthe Mall. He figured in the Ring in his phaeton. Reports of his greatwealth had long since preceded him to London, and not a little curiositywas excited about the fortunate Virginian.
Until our young friend could be balloted for at the proper season,my Lord March had written down his name for the club at White'sChocolate-House, as a distinguished gentleman from America. There wereas yet but few persons of fashion in London, but with a pocket full ofmoney at one-and-twenty, a young fellow can make himself happy even outof the season; and Mr. Harry was determined to enjoy.
He ordered Mr. Draper, then, to sell five hundred pounds of his stock.What would his poor mother have said had she known that the youngspendthrift was already beginning to dissipate his patrimony? He dinedat the tavern, he supped at the club, where
Jack Morris introduced him,with immense eulogiums, to such gentlemen as were in town. Life andyouth and pleasure were before him, the wine was set a-running, and theeager lad was greedy to drink. Do you see, far away in the west yonder,the pious widow at her prayers for her son? Behind the trees at Oakhursta tender little heart, too, is beating for him, perhaps. When theProdigal Son was away carousing, were not love and forgiveness still onthe watch for him?
Amongst the inedited letters of the late Lord Orford, there is one whichthe present learned editor, Mr. Peter Cunningbam, has omitted from hiscollection, doubting possibly the authenticity of the document. Nay,I myself have only seen a copy of it in the Warrington papers in MadamEsmond's prim handwriting, and noted "Mr. H. Walpole's account of my sonHenry at London, and of Baroness Tusher,--wrote to General Conway."
"ARLINGTON STREET, Friday Night.
"I have come away, child, for a day or two from my devotions to our Ladyof Strawberry. Have I not been on my knees to her these three weeks,and aren't the poor old joints full of rheumatism? A fit took me thatI would pay London a visit, that I would go to Vauxhall and Ranelagh.Quoi! May I not have my rattle as well as other elderly babies? Suppose,after being so long virtuous, I take a fancy to cakes and ale, shallyour reverence say nay to me? George Selwyn and Tony Storer andyour humble servant took boat at Westminster t'other night. Was itTuesday?--no, Tuesday I was with their Graces of Norfolk, who are justfrom Tunbridge--it was Wednesday. How should I know? Wasn't I dead drunkwith a whole pint of lemonade I took at White's?
"The Norfolk folk had been entertaining me on Tuesday with the accountof a young savage Iroquois, Choctaw, or Virginian, who has lately beenmaking a little noise in our quarter of the globe. He is an offshoot ofthat disreputable family of Esmond, Castlewood, of whom all the men aregamblers and spendthrifts, and all the women--well, I shan't say theword, lest Lady Ailesbury should be looking over your shoulder. Both thelate lords, my father told me, were in his pay, and the last one, a beauof Queen Anne's reign, from a viscount advanced to be an earl throughthe merits and intercession of his notorious old sister Bernstein, lateTusher, nee Esmond--a great beauty, too, of her day, a favourite of theold Pretender. She sold his secrets to my papa, who paid her for them;and being nowise particular in her love for the Stuarts, came over tothe august Hanoverian house at present reigning over us. 'Will HoraceWalpole's tongue never stop scandal?' says your wife over your shoulder.I kiss your ladyship's hand. I am dumb. The Bernstein is a model ofvirtue. She had no good reasons for marrying her father's chaplain.Many of the nobility omit the marriage altogether. She wasn't ashamedof being Mrs. Tusher, and didn't take a German Baroncino for a secondhusband, whom nobody out of Hanover ever saw. The Yarmouth bears nomalice. Esther and Vashti are very good friends, and have been cheatingeach other at Tunbridge at cards all the summer.
"'And what has all this to do with the Iroquois?' says your ladyship.The Iroquois has been at Tunbridge, too--not cheating, perhaps, butwinning vastly. They say he has bled Lord March of thousands--LordMarch, by whom so much blood hath been shed, that he has quarrelled witheverybody, fought with everybody, rode over everybody, been fallen inlove with by everybody's wife except Mr. Conway's, and not excepting herpresent Majesty, the Countess of England, Scotland, France and Ireland,Queen of Walmoden and Yarmouth, whom Heaven preserve to us.
"You know an offensive little creature, de par le monde, one JackMorris, who skips in and out of all the houses of London. When we wereat Vauxhall, Mr. Jack gave us a nod under the shoulder of a pretty youngfellow enough, on whose arm he was leaning, and who appeared hugelydelighted with the enchantments of the garden. Lord, how he staredat the fireworks! Gods, how he huzzayed at the singing of a horriblepainted wench who shrieked the ears off my head! A twopenny string ofglass beads and a strip of tawdry cloth are treasures in Iroquois-land,and our savage valued them accordingly.
"A buzz went about the place that this was the fortunate youth. He wonthree hundred at White's last night very genteelly from Rockingham andmy precious nephew, and here he was bellowing and huzzaying over themusic so as to do you good to hear. I do not love a puppet-show, but Ilove to treat children to one, Miss Conway! I present your ladyship mycompliments, and hope we shall go and see the dolls together.
"When the singing woman came down from her throne, Jack Morris mustintroduce my Virginian to her. I saw him blush up to the eyes, and makeher, upon my word, a very fine bow, such as I had no idea was practisedin wigwams. 'There is a certain jenny squaw about her, and that's whythe savage likes her,' George said--a joke certainly not as brilliant asa firework. After which it seemed to me that the savage and the savagesretired together.
"Having had a great deal too much to eat and drink three hours before,my partners must have chicken and rack-punch at Vauxhall, where Georgefell asleep straightway, and for my sins I must tell Tony Storer whatI knew about this Virginian's amiable family, especially some of theBernstein's antecedents, and the history of another elderly beauty ofthe family, a certain Lady Maria, who was au mieux with the late Princeof Wales. What did I say? I protest not half of what I knew, and ofcourse not a tenth part of what I was going to tell, for who shouldstart out upon us but my savage, this time quite red in the face; and inhis war paint. The wretch had been drinking fire-water in the next box!
"He cocked his hat, clapped his hand to his sword, asked which of thegentleman was it that was maligning his family? so that I was obliged toentreat him not to make such a noise, lest he should wake my friend, Mr.George Selwyn. And I added, 'I assure you, sir, I had no idea that youwere near me, and most sincerely apologise for giving you pain.'
"The Huron took his hand off his tomahawk at this pacific rejoinder,made a bow not ungraciously, said he could not, of course, ask more thanan apology from a gentleman of my age (Merci, monsieur!), and, hearingthe name of Mr. Selwyn, made another bow to George, and said he hada letter to him from Lord March, which he had had the ill-fortune tomislay. George has put him up for the club, it appears, in conjunctionwith March, and no doubt these three lambs will fleece each other.Meanwhile, my pacified savage sate down with us, and buried the hatchetin another bowl of punch, for which these gentlemen must call. Heavenhelp us! 'Tis eleven o'clock, and here comes Bedson with my gruel! H. W.
"To the Honourable. H. S. Conway."
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